Ahenobarbus quartered himself in the Lentulan villa as the prospective nephew-in-law of its owner.  He brought with him his customary train of underlings, and had travelled in appropriate state, in a litter with eight picked bearers, lolling on a cushion stuffed with rose-leaves, and covered with Maltese gauze, one garland on his head, another round his neck, and holding to his nose a smelling-bag of small-meshed linen filled with roses.

With all his effeminacy, he was beyond the least doubt desperately determined to possess himself of Cornelia.  His passion was purely animal and unrefined, but none could doubt it.  Cornelia feared to have him near her, and knew peace neither day nor night.  He assumed all a master’s rights over the slaves and freedmen, sending them hither and yon to do his bidding.  He had recovered from the fear Cornelia had struck into him, in her first defiance, and met her threats and hauteur with open scorn.

“You are a most adorable actress!” was his constant sneer.  And his every action told that he did not intend to let Cornelia play with him a second time.  With all his profligacy and moral worthlessness, he had a tenacity of purpose and an energy in this matter that showed that either Cornelia must in the end bow to his will, or their contest would end in something very like a tragedy.

And if a tragedy, so be it, was the desperate resolve of Cornelia; whose eyes were too stern for tears when she saw that Lucius was still the former creature of appetite; full of intrigue, sweethearts, seashore revels, carouses, singing, and music parties and water excursions with creatures of his choice from morning until midnight.  She could not altogether shun him, though she successfully resisted his half blandishments, half coercion, to make her join in his wild frivolities.  One revenge she found she could take on him—­a revenge that she enjoyed because it proclaimed her own intellectual superiority, and made Ahenobarbus writhe with impotent vexation—­she had him at her mercy when they played at checkers;[133] and at last Lucius lost so much money and temper at this game of wit, not chance, that he would sulkily decline a challenge.  But this was poor consolation to Cornelia.  The time was drifting on.  Before many days Lentulus Crus and Caius Clodius Marcellus would be consuls, and the anti-Caesarians would be ready to work their great opponent’s undoing, or be themselves forever undone.  Where was Drusus?  What was he doing?  What part would he play in the struggle, perhaps of arms, about to begin?  O for one sight of him, for one word!  And the hunger in Cornelia’s breast grew and grew.

  [133] Latrunculi.